The Taste of Peaches
by MizJoely
Summary: It's Sarah's 18th birthday, and all she's trying to do is avoid eating the peach cobbler her family thinks is still her favorite dessert. Due to the timely intervention of a certain Goblin King, she manages to skip that particular ordeal, only to face a far more dangerous-& intriguing-situation. Rated M for M-F adultness.
1. Birthday Surprise

_A/N: This story will contain elements of non-con at the end, but nothing worse than you'd find in a 1970s era romance novel, where the hero basically forces himself on the heroine but it's what she really wants, anyway. Dark!Jareth; he wants one thing from Sarah and he's not going to let her mouth say "no" when her body says "yes"._

_Warning given, I don't own anyone or anything, etc. Enjoy!_

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**Part 1: Birthday Surprise**

Peaches.

How she _loathed_ peaches.

But she couldn't tell Dad and Karen that, or her mom. They'd want to know why she suddenly couldn't stand the sight, scent or taste of her once-favorite fruit. Instead she just smiled and pretended that yes, peach cobbler was exactly what she wanted for desert tonight, after her special eighteenth birthday family dinner. The one Mom had flown all the way from London to celebrate with her daughter and her ex-husband and his second family.

It was one of the few things that Sarah had been able to stand about her parents' divorce, the fact that they still got along with each other. In fact, the more time passed, the better they got along; hell, Mom even liked Karen and Toby. Sarah found herself wondering if she'd always liked them or just liked them now that her daughter had finally gotten over herself and started to get along with them both.

Karen, frankly, Sarah could give or take; they'd never be bestest buddies or have any cozy stepmother-daughter chats, but Toby she adored. No matter how annoying or whiny he got, everyone commented on how well his older sister was able to deal with him. He was three now, past the terrible twos but not exactly a model human being as of yet, but Sarah was older as well, and far, far wiser since her sojourn in the Underground.

But she still hated peaches, and still couldn't tell anyone why. How the very sight of a peach made her dizzy, as if everything were dancing around her, just as it had after she'd taken a bite of the magical peach Jareth had tricked her into eating.

And that, of course, was the root cause of her newly-acquired hatred of peaches. She associated them, justifiably enough, with the night she'd almost condemned an innocent baby to a transformed life as a hideous goblin.

Her own brother, and she'd wished him away like yesterday's garbage. "So not cool, Sarah," she muttered to herself as she brushed her hair.

She regarded her reflection in the mirror. It wasn't a bad reflection, not a bad one at all, even if she did say so herself. Her thick, chocolate brown hair reached nearly to her waist after years of steadfastly refusing haircuts that did more than snip off split ends, and she'd learned to wield the tools of the make-up artist at her mother's talented hands, so she'd never gone through the messy, "too much" stage when it came to eye shadow and liner and lipstick. Not that the face she'd been born with required a whole lot of artifice or covering up; her skin was flawless, creamy (she refused to think "peaches and cream"), and mercifully zit-free since just after her fourteenth birthday. And her eyes were large and dark and thickly lashed…

"And my lips are pouty and my nose is perfect and oh my God I sound like the world's biggest narcissist," she said aloud, laughing at herself for getting caught up in her looks, of all things.

Yeah, she had nothing to complain about in that department, but unlike her mother she refused to fuss over it more than she had to. Well, except for nights like this, when she was obviously trying to avoid thinking about other things.

Dangerous things.

She studied her image for another moment, not to categorize her features, but out of honest curiosity. She was eighteen now; did she look any different? She didn't think so, not so different from yesterday or even a year ago. And she probably wouldn't even have thought about if everyone didn't keep asking if she _felt_ different now.

The truth was, she didn't. The truth was, the last time she'd felt "different" was when she was fifteen and running the Labyrinth, but of course that wasn't something she could tell anyone, any more than she could explain her hatred of peaches.

Oh, she could see how _that_ conversation would go!

"What do you mean, you hate peaches, Sarah? They've always been your favorite," she said in a passable imitation of her mother's voice before switching to a little girl's sing-song tones. "Why, Mummy, didn't I tell you? I wished Toby away to the Goblin Kingdom and then had to run a magical maze to get him back, while the Goblin King did his damndest to stop me, up to and including almost killing me with these creepy mechanical Cleaners. And on top of that, he drugged me with a magic peach."

She shook her head and pulled a face. Yeah. Not happening. No, tonight, as always on her birthday, she would grit her teeth and smile and eat her peach cobbler and be bubbly and social until it was time to put Toby to bed. She'd volunteer to do that so they could have some special brother-sister time, then she'd go into the upstairs bathroom while Dad and Karen and her mother were sharing civilized cocktails and conversation, and puke her guts out.

Then she'd brush her teeth and make sure she lit a candle to cover the smell and go back downstairs and actually enjoy the rest of the evening since the stress of waiting for her body to win the struggle with her mind and eject the peaches would be over and done with for another year. And who knew? Once she started college in the fall she might be able to come up with some plausible excuse for hating peaches, like food poisoning in the cafeteria or something.

"Just another thing to blame you for, Goblin King," she muttered resentfully as she examined her reflection one last time before going downstairs for dinner.

"And here I thought our time together had been special," a mocking voice replied from just behind her.

Sarah gasped and spun around, heart pounding. It couldn't be…she'd seen him destroyed…surely he was dead?

But no. Shoulder resting against her bedroom door, mismatched eyes regarding her quizzically, eyebrow raised in that mocking manner she remembered so well…Looking, in fact, exactly as he had when she first saw him.

The Goblin King himself. In her bedroom. "You," she breathed disbelievingly. "What are you doing here?"

Jareth uncrossed his arms and offered a cold smile. "Don't you mean, why aren't I dead?" He plucked a crystal ball from nowhere and tossed it lightly in the air, catching it in one hand before flicking his wrist and making it vanish back to wherever it had come from. "Isn't that what you believed, that I was dead, destroyed by your declaration that I had no power over you?"

Sarah was standing, frozen, unable to move as he spoke in deliberately mocking tones. "I thought…that is, my friends said…"

"Ah, your friends," he sneered, taking one step toward her. Sarah couldn't help it; she backed up until she slammed painfully into the edge of her white-painted vanity table. She yelped, then slapped a hand over her mouth, not wanting to alert her family to the fact that something was wrong.

As if divining her fears, the Goblin King glanced over his shoulder at the door before returning his attention to her and offering a sardonic smile in response. "Don't worry, precious," he said, taking another step closer. "They can't hear us. No one in your world can, since we aren't _in_ your world any longer."

Sarah felt her mouth go dry with terror. "What do you mean?" she demanded, eyes darting about as she took in the familiar details of her room. "We're still in my house…"

Jareth made a tsking noise and took a third step toward her. The room was small; he was only a foot or two away from her now, but she managed to stiffen her spine and not give in to the impulse to dart around him, fling open her bedroom door and run screaming down the hallway.

"Your house is still in your world," he said, seemingly in agreement, but Sarah knew damn well that things weren't always as they appeared when the Goblin King was around. "But this?" He glanced up, waving a hand to take in her room and its contents. The motion turned dismissive as he continued: "This isn't in your house. It isn't even your real room, Sarah. Don't believe me?" His smile turned cruel. "Look outside and tell me what you see."

She didn't want to. She didn't want to turn her back on him, cross the room and open the curtains, but she had to know if he was telling the truth or simply playing some kind of complicated mind-game. So she swallowed her fear, edged past his unmoving form and reached with one hand to push the deep blue curtain aside and peer out into the night.

Her mind reeled as she gazed out onto an alien landscape, a frozen wasteland lit by the brilliant glow of not one but two full moons. She tore her shocked stare away from those impossible orbs long enough to see that the bedroom window now appeared to be at ground level instead of on the second floor where it belonged, and that there was no sign of the backyard, the fence, the neighboring houses or streets, just a frozen tundra, drifts of snow and sheets of ice, billowing mist and nothing else.

"I don't understand," she said through numb lips, when she could find the breath to speak again, eyes still glued to the impossible scene before her. She reached up with trembling fingers to touch the glass, hissing in surprise and pulling back when she encountered a numbing cold. It was late summer, and the day had been brutally hot. Just another sign that she wasn't in Kansas anymore, as the saying went.

"Of course you don't." She let out another gasp; his voice was right behind her, soft and velvety with promise—but promise of what? Why had he brought her here? What did he want with her?

When she voiced those very questions, unable to move, his only response was a low, menacing chuckle and the whisper of gloved fingers trailing up her arm to her shoulder.

As if his touch broke a spell, she wrenched herself away, pushing past him and hurrying to her bedroom door. "I wouldn't try to open that if I were you," he called out in warning, and she paused, fingers on the knob, before slowly turning to face him again.

"Why not?" She tried to make the question as challenging and demanding as she could, but had a sneaking suspicion she only sounded the way she felt—scared. Helpless.

Dizzy.

"Because it won't open to anything you'd like to see," Jareth responded. He remained by the window, a slight smile curving his lips, but it wasn't a smile that promised anything but danger. "Be a good girl and don't test me."

Slowly, carefully, Sarah considered her options. Slowly, carefully, she pulled her hand away from the knob and turned to rest her back against the door as she studied the man—creature—standing opposite her. "Why are you doing this?" she finally asked, her voice a near moan. "What do you _want_?"

"What I've always wanted, precious," he replied, eyes glittering eerily as the light in the room faded to a moonlit glow before disappearing into complete darkness. "You."

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_A/N: To my "Labyrinth" readers - I know, I know, this isn't "Forbidden Fruit." That has temporarily stalled and is going to be considerably longer than this story, so since I have most of this finished and barely half of the other, this one got to cut in line. Hope you enjoy and be sure to R&R if you do! (If you don't, please refrain from flames; I will happily respond to critical PMs if they are worded nicely!) :)_


	2. Mind Games

**Part 2: Mind Games**

Sarah closed her eyes, only for a moment, but in that moment her room—or rather, the facsimile of her room—had vanished completely. Instead, she found herself alone in another room entirely, circular, stone floors and walls and high, timbered ceiling, two narrow windows opposite each other, just like a turret in a fairy tale.

Even the furnishings belonged in a fairy tale, she realized as she spun around in order to take everything in as quickly as possible. A high, canopied bed with wooden steps leading up to the mattress that would nearly reach her head if she stood next to it. An elaborately carved wooden chest at the foot of the bed, a matching wardrobe opposite both pieces of furniture. Silver, candle-filled sconces on the walls. A fireplace cunningly inset into the stone wall to her right, with a low, tufted ottoman or bench in front of it. Soft rugs beneath her feet and strewn, seemingly at random, about the stone floor.

It was lovely, except for two things: there were no doors, and all the draperies, tapestries, comforters, everything made of any kind of fabric, every pillow, every rug, was in varying shades of peach.

She thought she might throw up, but grimly held it back until the nausea subsided.

Only then did she realize that she was alone, and only after that did she realize that her clothes had transformed into a shimmering medieval-style ball gown…of peach and white.

That did it. Her terror subsided; it was one thing to be taken captive by the Goblin King, it was quite another to be taunted like this. "I hate peaches!" she screamed out loud, clenching her fists and making as if to tear the gown from her body.

"Please do, precious, I do enjoy a show," a purring voice murmured from just behind her. "Twill make my desires easier to indulge."

Sarah gasped and stumbled forward, whirling to face the Goblin King…who wasn't there. The room was still empty, although she'd felt his breath on the back of her neck, stirring her hair and raising goose bumps on her skin.

"Where are you? Show yourself!" she shouted, hands fisted by her sides but no longer clenching the loathsome peach gown. "You can't keep me trapped here forever!"

"Can't I?"

This time the voice came from the direction of the fireplace; when she spun around to face it, the Goblin King was sitting on the low bench, one knee raised and clasped between his black-gloved hands, the other leg stretched out as if all he had in mind was taking his ease by the warmth of the fire.

"You can't just steal me away like this," she protested when he continued to merely sit and study her, lips pressed together in a mocking smile. "You've broken your own rules…"

"No, I've broken _your_ own rules," he corrected her with a sneer. "Rules I contorted myself and my kingdom to adhere to during your last sojourn among us."

Sarah stared at him, not bothering to hide the confusion she felt in either voice or features. "But I thought…I thought the book…"

He raised an eyebrow. "What, you thought your precious book was modeled after the reality of the Goblin Kingdom? How quaint." He shook his head. "No, precious, the Goblin Kingdom, for those thirteen—sorry, twelve—hours you spent in my realm, were modeled after your book."

Her head was reeling; she'd always believed that he'd somehow planted the book Aboveground in order to trap her, to make certain she knew the right words to say when Toby drove her younger self crazy enough to actually wish him away. "But…why?" she finally asked, when trying to figure it out herself did nothing but churn her already confused thoughts into a muddy, muddled mess.

He tilted his head to one side as if considering her question. "Truly? You don't know?"

She shook her head. "No."

A slow smile spread across his face, lighting his eyes with an unholy glee. "Well, well, she truly doesn't know, even now, so much more mature at eighteen, so much more a _woman_ than she was at fifteen. Fancy that."

Sarah felt herself flushing. "The book said you were in love with the girl," she forced herself to say, doggedly working her way through this unexpected situation—and the Goblin King's unexpected willingness to talk about their past interaction. "Surely you're not saying…"

He threw his head back and laughed, howling with mirth as she felt her flush deepen into a humiliated blush. She crossed her arms even tighter against her chest, wishing she were anywhere but here. "Love is a human emotion, precious," he replied when he regained control of himself. "And in case you've forgotten, I'm not human."

She shook her head, wanting to just cover her head and hide somewhere, anywhere to escape his knowing gaze. She'd fantasized a little, when she'd first returned home and dreamed of peaches and ballrooms and dancing in his arms, that her love was what he sought when he begged her stay with him.

Leave it to him to remind her that he wasn't the romantic hero in a fairy tale. He was the villain, one who'd ruthlessly used her own desires and imaginings against her. "Are you even the Goblin King, or did you make that part up, too?" she asked, emboldened by his lack of movement, his willingness to converse when she'd expected…well, she wasn't exactly sure what she expected, but this certainly wasn't it.

He dipped his head, once in acknowledgement of her question, but said nothing further.

Fine. Let him go all dark and enigmatic on her. It was abundantly clear that she needed to grow up and stop fooling herself that she knew him well enough to be able to predict what he would and would not do.

As she wrestled with her confusion, he released his knee and lowered his foot the floor, gathering his legs beneath him preparatory to rising. Sarah took a nervous step backwards, and his sneer morphed into a sardonic smile. "What, precious, do you think I'd stoop to wrestling you to the floor and forcing myself on you?"

She straightened her shoulders and tried to look defiant. "You said you wanted me," she replied, managing to keep the trembling out of her voice that kept wanting to overwhelm her ability to speak. "You brought me here, to a bedroom," she gestured behind her to the oversized peach behemoth of a bed, "and I'm a prisoner. At your mercy." It was her turn to attempt a sardonic expression, a curl of the lip and a raised eyebrow, crossed arms and cocked hip. "What am I supposed to think?"

He vanished, only to reappear immediately behind her, a fact she became aware of only when his arms snaked their way around her waist, pulling her against his whip-thin frame and pinning her arms in place. "Oh, yes, I have brought you here for that," he breathed, and she tried not to flinch away but didn't succeed very well—nor was she able to get very far; his grip was like iron, and she wondered what he'd do if she simply raised her feet off the ground and brought them both tumbling to the floor.

Only the sure knowledge that they would end up with her beneath him and him smirking above her kept her from trying. "So get it over with," she spat out when the silence stretched until she couldn't stand it a second longer. She twisted her head around to meet his gaze, glaring at him in what she hoped was an intimidating manner. "Take what you want, get your revenge and let me go."

Her voice nearly broke on that last bit, and by the flicker of satisfaction that flashed over his features, he not only heard it, but relished it. "Letting you go is not part of the plan, precious," he replied.

"Stop calling me that!" she cried out, nearly stamping her foot in sudden fury. He'd abducted her, brought her to this boudoir prison, basically told her he was going to rape her, but it was the way he kept calling her "precious" that was getting to her. "I'm not some stupid overfed Persian cat!" she snarled between clenched teeth.

Her vehemence startled him into a laugh, and he loosened his grasp on her just enough for her to force herself free from his embrace and race toward the nearest window. It was narrow, just wide enough for her to squeeze through if she really wanted to, with nothing to block her exit: no glass, no shutters or screens or anything else standing between her and the outside world. Which, part of her mind noted, felt more like a balmy spring night than the icy winter she'd last faced.

Once glance through that narrow aperture, however, told her there was no escape that way. The tower was dizzyingly high, the ground under the twin moons' light an inky blackness hundreds of feet down. The only escape she'd make through the windows would be if she chose to hurl herself to the ground.

"I'll not stop you should you choose true death over the proverbial fate worse than death," Jareth said, once again seeming to read her thoughts. Or perhaps it was the way she remained, frozen in indecision, half-leaning over the deep stone sill. "Tis your choice."

"Great, _that_ choice you're willing to give me," she replied bitterly, but stepped away from the narrow opening and instead backed up against the gentle curve of the stone wall. Her head was spinning again, this time from the rapid shifts in his mood; one moment mocking, the next threatening, then suddenly as neutral as the color beige. She could barely keep up, and guessed that he wanted her as off-balance as she was currently feeling.

The stone was cold against her thin dress, but she managed to hold back a shiver, both at the sudden drop in temperature and the sudden terror that his mood would turn deadly. "OK, I get it. You're not a character in a play, you just chose to act like him for whatever reason."

"Because I wanted you," he replied, his voice matter-of-fact, no sarcasm or anger or ogling leer as he spoke. Simple, to the point. "I wanted you; you intrigued me as few mortal women ever have, with your play-acting and single-minded desire to mold the world to your whims. I recognized in your youthful self something of a kindred spirit. So I did what you wanted; took the brat when you said the right words, offered you the chance to redeem him, molded my own world so that it matched your expectations, and how did you repay me?"

There it was, the cruelty, the anger, the hooded glare from mismatched eyes; if Sarah had not had a wall behind her and literally nowhere to go, she'd have turned and run for her life. Instead, she simply stood there, half-mesmerized as he stalked forward, directly toward her. "You spurned me." His voice was a menacing growl, and Sarah's heart, which had already been beating far faster than normal, went into a virtual panic, as if trying to lub-dub its way out of her chest. "You destroyed everything I'd built for you, and you left, never looking back and never once giving a thought as to the destruction you'd wrought."

"What about the destruction _you_ wrought?" she asked as he stopped directly in front of her. She tilted her head back so she could continue to meet his eyes, terrified of what might happen if she so much as blinked but unable to stop her runaway tongue. If he meant to do her harm, there was literally nothing she could do about it, so why worry? "What about stealing an innocent baby out of his crib and holding him prisoner? What about forcing a fifteen-year-old girl to run a deadly Labyrinth in order to save him? I'm lucky I didn't end up in the nuthouse after all that!"

"And still she blames me for doing exactly what she wanted me to do," he said wonderingly, as if speaking to invisible creatures. Which, for all Sarah knew, he was.

Jareth reached out and placed one finger beneath her chin, turning her head slightly to one side and then the other, studying her as if she were an exotic pet he'd been given and didn't quite know what to do with. "Everything that happened to you came from your own imagination," he said softly. "From the depths of your own mind. Your thoughts, your dreams…" his voice lowered to an intimate whisper. "Your desires. And yet you fault me still, years later, for offering you the very world you craved, deep within your soul."

She did shiver then, shivered and blinked and in that nanosecond of time, he was gone, leaving her feeling as wrung out as a dishrag, as her grandmother used to say. She slid down the wall to the floor, lowered her head to her knees and gave in to the shakes that tore through her body.


	3. Sleeping Beauty, Bathing Beauty

**Part 3: Sleeping Beauty, Bathing Beauty…**

When she woke up the next morning, crumpled in a heap on the soft carpeting where she'd collapsed in tears when the shakes finally left her, she was cramped, headachy, and as exhausted as if she'd never slept at all. There was daylight streaming through the two windows, which had changed sometime during the night; where she remembered two slits barely wide enough for her to fit herself through, there were now oval, glassed-in openings, shuttered on the outside and curtained within.

Peach curtains, of course. She wished she could just rip them down and shred them, but it would probably piss the Goblin King off even more, and she still remembered his threats from the night before. He wanted her. He intended to…what? Rape her? Seduce her?

She shied away from the first possibility and snorted her disdain at the latter as she stretched and groaned her way around the room, ending up in front of the fire, sinking down onto the bench and warming her hands at flames that seemed no higher and no lower than they had last night. Curious, she reached out as if to touch the fire, only to watch in bemusement as the flames literally flicked themselves out of her reach. Only after she lowered her hands to rest them on the bench did the flames return to their original position.

Okay. Presumably she wasn't going to be able to burn herself. Good to know.

That thought led her to remember the candles from last night; a swift glance around the room told her they'd gone out without appearing any shorter in length than they had when she finally dropped into sleep. Not that she needed them now; the sunlight coming through the two magically-enlarged windows was more than enough to brighten the (she shuddered) peach bed chamber.

Thinking of peaches made her gorge rise; holding a hand to her mouth, she ran to the nearest window and leaned over it, taking deep, cleansing breaths of the cool morning air, waiting for her stomach to settle before turning back to the room.

A silver platter had materialized on the bench she'd just vacated, holding two items: a tea cup and a small white plate with four slices of toast on it.

She approached as cautiously as if she expected the food to morph into a pair of bombs set to explode as soon as he got too near.

She stopped just in front of the bench. Nothing happened.

What did she expect? That the Goblin King himself would materialize and force-feed her?

Her stomach was still a bit queasy, but the toast and tea still held some appeal. After all, she'd completely missed her birthday dinner the night before.

She settled herself back on the bench and began nibbling on a crust of toast. When that seemed inclined to stay in her stomach, she allowed herself a sip of the tea. It was quite weak, which was exactly what her mother and step-mother had both prescribed when she'd been sick in the past.

A sign of concern from her "host", or more mockery?

She couldn't find the energy to care. Instead she just concentrated on finishing the tea and one more slice of the toast, tossing the remaining two slices into the fire and brushing the crumbs off her fingers onto the now-empty plate.

She closed her eyes. OK, breakfast was over, now what? Her teeth felt gritty, her skin greasy and her hair…ugh. "I need a shower and a toothbrush," she murmured, not expecting an answer and thankfully not receiving one. She also needed to use a toilet, but she wasn't expressing _that_ out loud. Still, if Jareth intended to keep her here for any length of time, he had to realize that she would need to use certain facilities. Unless he wanted her to humiliate herself by being forced to…

No. Shove _that_ thought aside. Things weren't urgent, not yet.

She flicked her eyes open and gazed at the nearest window. If there were a true emergency…

She blinked, not sure she was seeing what she was seeing, blinked again, then rose to her feet.

There was a door, on the wall next to the wardrobe.

There hadn't been a door before.

She ran to it, flinging it open before it vanished as capriciously as it had appeared, prepared to run through it and hopefully to freedom, only to stop in her tracks as she realized it led only to another room.

A bathroom. _No, bathing chamber_, she corrected herself bitterly. _Gotta use the right medieval terminology here, since I'm now playing the part of Princess in the Tower._

Was the bastard reading her mind? If he could do that…she shuddered. Hadn't already said as much?

She reached up and pressed her hands against her temples to try and massage away the headache as she looked over the bathroom, desperate to distract herself from her mounting panic.

The tub was of the claw-footed variety she'd expect to see in a Victorian mansion, rather than the wooden basin or copper tub of truly medieval times; white, ceramic, ornate—and with what had to be faucets for hot and cold running water at one end. How modern. When she tentatively turned one, sure enough, out come a stream of icy water. She shut it off, only it wouldn't stop; instead, the other faucet turned itself on, and a cloud of steam filled the room as hot water joined the cold in filling the tub.

Sarah turned toward the door in a panic; magic hot-and-cold-running-water was one thing, but who knew what would happen next?

The door was gone, vanished as if it had never been.

With an angry sob, Sarah slammed her fist against the stone wall that now stood where the wooden door had been. "Let me out!" she cried, but no one answered. After a minute of hyperventilating, she forced herself to calm down, methodically looking over the rest of the small room's amenities. Sink, over by a high, narrow window too far above head-height for her to reach even by jumping, and nothing moveable in the room to use to boost herself up to it. Opposite that, something she assumed was the toilet, a gleaming chrome and white ceramic monstrosity with an overhead tank and dangling chain with a silver art deco style pull at the end.

The sight of that particular piece of equipment made her remember that Mother Nature was calling; she'd been here all night in a land with thirteen-hour days, and her bladder was letting her know how unhappy it was at being full.

She approached the contraption cautiously, hesitating a long moment before finally reaching out and lifting the lid; yup, definitely a toilet. Anachronistically for a Victorian bathroom, there was a simple roll of white toilet paper on the floor near the wall; thank God for that. She sat and did what needed doing, nearly giving in to renewed panic when she lifted her dress and belatedly realized she had absolutely nothing on underneath it. No socks, no slip…no underwear.

_Breathe, Sarah,_ she counseled herself. _Just breathe and do what you have to do._

She finished, pulled the chain and stood up, once again gazing around the room, seeking any details she might have missed the first time. There was nothing else in the room; just the toilet, the sink near the window, and the oversized tub in the middle of the room.

The water had turned itself off, and she walked over to look at it, surprised to note that the water came nearly to the rim; surely it hadn't been running long enough to fill the ceramic monstrosity?

_Magic_, her mind whispered, reminding her that home was very far away and panic all-too willing to take over.

Well, she wouldn't let it. Ever.

Instead she considered the matter of the tub. "What, I'm not clean enough for you to ravish?" she muttered, not expecting—and not getting—an answer. Still, it was a shame to waste such a luxurious treat, even though she knew it wasn't for her own comfort that it was offered. But no matter how much of a dreamer she'd always been, she still knew how to be practical when it was called for, and a good long soak in a hot tub would help ease the cramps and muscle aches she'd accumulated from spending a night on the floor. Not to mention the tension headache that was still throbbing in her temples.

That was what decided her. She stopped dithering and stripped off the detested peach gown, crumpling it into a ball before stepping into the tub.

It wasn't only panties and socks and shoes that had been missing from her wardrobe; once she pulled the gown over her head she realized she was no longer wearing a bra, either. No corsets or other medieval underthings. Nothing at all. And the gown itself had been remarkably easy to remove, not needing to be untied or unlaced or un-anything…easy to remove and she'd gotten rid of even that flimsy barrier between her skin and anyone who wanted access to said skin without thinking through the consequences of her actions.

Here she was, sitting in a tub full of water—water that had magically filled itself—waiting like a…like a peach to be plucked. Naked.

With that realization, she started to scramble out of the tub in a panic, but a quick glance at the floor where she'd left her gown showed her the futility of trying to redress herself; it was gone. Nor did another searching look around the room reveal anything like a towel or a robe.

"Bathtub as trap, that's a new one," she growled to herself in frustration.

"I consider it more as a gift," Jareth's voice replied. From behind her, of course.

She craned her neck and glared up at him, sinking down lower in the water as if it could cover her from his sight when there wasn't so much as a stray bubble floating on the clear surface. She crossed her legs and covered herself with her hands as best she could, but he was still smirking down at her and she felt herself burning with shame and rage. "Get out," she said between clenched teeth, but of course he ignored her.

"Now that is a sight I've longed for," he said in a conversational tone as he continued to loom over her. "So kind of you to share, precious."

"I told you to stop calling me that!" she yelled as she finally found the wherewithal to scramble out of the tub, splashing water all over the white marble floor in her haste.

She was still completely naked, of course, but at least she was on her feet. Able to fight, if it came to that.

Or not. Jareth wasn't there. Just like before, she was ready to do battle and her opponent had vanished into the aether. So. Not. Fair.

It took her more than a few minutes to calm down enough to do more than just glare at the stone wall where the door had been. After that, she decided to just climb back into the tub and get that soothing soak she'd been about to enjoy when Jareth interrupted her. And if he interrupted again? Well, she'd just ignore him this time. So far all he'd done was taunt her; he hadn't so much as kissed her.

Not that she wanted him to.

Right?

Sarah closed her eyes and submerged herself fully beneath the inviting warmth of the water. Why on earth was she thinking about being kissed by the Goblin King, when it was the last thing she wanted?

_Because I'm worried about how he plans to get into my pants,_ she told herself severely as she reemerged, squeezing the excess water from her hair and wiping it from her face. Then, as she glanced down at her naked self with a grimace: _If, of course, I _had_ pants for him to get into._

It occurred to her that he might not return the dress to her, or give her anything to replace it; if he didn't, well, then she'd know, wouldn't she? She'd probably feel his hands on her arms again, the way she had in her mock-bedroom—how had he done that, exactly? She tried to focus on that rather than on the way his gloved fingers had felt against her skin, velvety warm but raising goose bumps in their wake…or the way his body had felt against hers last night, the way he'd molded himself to her, his breath hot on her neck as he told her he'd brought her here for exactly the reasons she'd imagined…

No, wrong. Not imagined. Feared. With an angry exclamation she stood up and stepped out of the tub. She started to sluice the water from her body when she felt something soft against her foot and looked down to see a fluffy white towel worthy of the fivest of five-star hotels on the floor.

She picked it up and wrapped it around herself, glancing around the room even as she knew she wouldn't see anyone. Whether the towel had arrived magically on its own or been deposited by invisible servants or Jareth himself, it didn't matter. He'd already seen her naked—_and approved of what he saw_, some traitorous part of her mind purred—so there was no point in going all modest now. Still, there was even less point in giving him what he wanted.

Namely, herself.

She shivered again at the thought, and resolutely refrained from trying to figure out if it was fear or…something else that was sending a tingle up her spine.

_I'm a prisoner,_ she reminded herself as she briskly rubbed the towel over her arms. _And no matter how attractive Jareth is, he's still the Goblin King, the villain of the story._

A villain and a princess in a tower. Somehow, she doubted he'd tolerate the presence of handsome prince coming to rescue her in this particular fairy tale. After all, as he'd so bluntly informed her last night, he wasn't playing by her rules any longer.

The shiver that ran over her at that chilling thought was unambiguously fearful. He kept calling her precious (God, she _hated_ that nickname), he said he wanted her, he'd brought her here presumably to do something about that…so why keep appearing and vanishing? Why keep leaving her to her own devices?

Why keep putting it off?

She asked that last question aloud, exasperation tinting her words, half-expecting to hear a sardonic response, but when only silence greeted her, she slumped her shoulders and wrapped the towel more tightly around her. "He's just trying to get under your skin, Sarah," she admonished herself. "So don't let him. Just take things as they come, right? Or," she added with a grin as something occurred to her, "at least look for hidden doors!"

She turned back to the wall, ready to start tapping and pressing the stones, only to be faced with the wooden door that had first given her entrance to the bath roo—bathing chamber, she once again corrected herself, although she wasn't sure why she bothered. She hurried toward the door, clutching the towel against her chest with one hand and turning the cut-glass knob with the other, opening it slowing and peering cautiously into the adjacent room before fully committing herself.

Same peach bedchamber, same fireplace, no one there. It looked exactly as it had when she'd gone into the other room, with one exception: a dress lying across the bench in front of the fireplace.

A blue dress. Not peach.

She hurried over and picked it up after making sure the ends of the towel were tucked firmly in place. It was a simple shift-style dress; floor-length, a-line, long sleeves, no buttons or zippers or snaps, easy to pull on over her head.

Nothing to put on underneath it. She shrugged. She'd take what she could get.

It was a struggle to pull the snug bodice down over the towel she'd refused to take off until she was once again clothed, but she managed. She wiggled the towel off and straightened the dress, admiring the way it draped her form. How on earth did Jareth know her size?

She huffed impatiently. It was magic, of course, and what difference did it make, anyway? It wasn't like he was buying her presents, he was just—what? Her mind stopped short there; why bother giving her clothes when he planned to take advantage of her, use her body, put his hands on her, ravish her…

"Whoa, back up, Sarah!" She realized her breath was coming a bit heavy and that her cheeks felt flushed. She had no idea why her mind insisted on trying to turn this debacle into a romantic fantasy rather than the brutal truth…well, not true. She _did_ know; the romantic fantasy was way preferable to the truth, that was why. She _wanted_ him to be the seductive lover; she _wanted_ him to be doing this because he couldn't live without her and had finally been forced to desperate means once she was old enough to properly appreciate all he had to offer.

She wanted _him_.

She collapsed onto the bench as the shock of that admission overcame her. She felt dizzy and scared, flushed with heat and icy with shame as she let herself understand why she hadn't been freaking out over her situation as much as she should have been.

There was no magic peach to blame this time, either; there was nothing but her own mind and body. Deep inside, she was flattered that Jareth had gone to such lengths to bring her to him. She was _glad_ that he wanted her so much he'd carried her off to this tower in order to have his wicked way with her…and she was frustrated that, so far, he'd stopped short of actually _doing_ anything more than taunt and tease her.

Her hands flew up to press against her heated cheeks and she groaned in humiliation. If he ever knew how she secretly felt, he would never let her forget it, he would use it against her…the only way for this to end with her dignity still intact was if he just showed up and straight-up raped her, thus forcing her to see him as the villain he really was and not the Byronic hero she wanted him to be.

If he did that, just took her against her will, then she'd finally be rid of the subconscious longing she'd felt for him, the pull he had on her; the spell would be broken and she could get on with her life.

Presuming, of course, that she had a life left to get on with. One that didn't involve being stuck in this stupid tower for the next hundred years.

_Letting you go is not part of the plan, precious._ That's what he'd said, and she clutched at the words as if at a lifesaver in the middle of a raging ocean. She needed to tamp down on the hormones and let the romantic fantasies die a natural death. He was holding her prisoner, not offering her the keys to the kingdom.

After all, he'd already done so, and she'd turned him down flat. And the Goblin King didn't strike her as someone who offered second chances. No, that ship had sailed and it was her own fault…and why were her thoughts turning on her _again_? What was with her? She didn't want any of this; even if there was some kind of attraction she felt for him, it was just physical. She'd managed to ignore physical attraction plenty of times in the past, she could damn well do so now! Especially under these circumstances…


	4. Beauty and the Beast

**Warning: Smut. Remember, M story. (Enjoy!)**

**Part 4: …Beauty and the Beast**

"You look like a woman with a great deal on her mind."

Sarah didn't even gasp or start when her whirling thoughts were interrupted this time, just looked up and met Jareth's coolly amused gaze.

He was standing directly in front of her, of course, a superior smile lingering on his lips, and she suddenly couldn't take it any more. "Jareth, what do you want from me?" she asked, not caring if she sounded desperate or pathetic. "Do you want me to be afraid of you? Are you trying to seduce me? Or drive me crazy? Just _tell_ me!"

He continued to hold her gaze for a long moment, as the smile slowly morphed into a considering purse of the lips. "What do I want," he repeated musingly. "A very good question indeed. That color suits you, by the way," he added, nodding at her deep blue dress. "An excellent choice."

"That is just like you!" she flared up as she rose to her feet, feeling her cheeks burning, this time in pure anger. "I ask a question and you talk about my dress—a dress, I might add, that you picked out, so you're basically complimenting yourself, not me!"

"I do love it when you show your temper," he said, another smile quirking the corners of his lips for a brief moment. "You are at your best when in a rage." He reached out and stroked one finger along the line of her jaw before she jerked her head away.

As quick as lightning he grasped her jaw in his hand, pulling her head toward his. She grunted in pain as his fingers dug into her flesh, eyes wide as he lowered his face to meet hers. "However, make no mistake; I will not tolerate your rages against _me_. You are in my kingdom, under my power, and you would do well to remember that."

She grit her teeth before throwing caution to the wind and reaching up to try and pry his fingers away from. "Let me go, you arrogant bastard," she hissed as she managed to get the tip of one pinky finger loose. For about a second. "I beat you, get over it. Find someone else to bully, I'm not a child any more!"

He released her so suddenly she reeled and would have stumbled if his hands weren't just as quickly on her forearms, yanking her against his body. "No, you're not a child," he murmured. She felt his lips against her ear, sliding down the column of her throat and she struggled to free herself even as part of her urged her to just give in and let him do what he wanted—what they _both_ wanted.

He ignored her struggles much more easily than she could ignore that traitorous inner voice, holding her in place, disregarding her attempts to kick him, pressing her backwards until the pressure of the bench against her knees forced her to sit.

He came with her, joining her on the tufted cushions of the bench, and Sarah knew she'd finally pushed him over whatever edge he'd been teetering on. He wasn't putting things off any longer, and it was half with relief and half with terror that she felt his lips sliding over hers, his tongue plundering her mouth as he pulled her even tighter against his body.

She fought him; she could honestly say that she tried to stop it from happening, later, when she was able to think once again. She didn't just let him have his way. Or let her own body just have its way, either. For whatever it was worth, she could tell herself she'd tried her best to resist.

Tried, failed, and ultimately, couldn't bring herself to really care.

On the other hand, she would also be forced to admit that she wasn't exactly fighting him with her whole heart and soul, either. Not once he kissed her, once she felt the passion that his touch aroused within her—and the passion that he, himself, was not bothering to try and hide.

After an endless moment during which time seemed to be suspended he pulled his mouth away from hers. A sideways flick of his eyes was her only warning of his intention to remove them to a more congenial trysting place; a heartbeat later they were on the bed, the narrow confines of the bench left behind through magical means and swiftly forgotten as Sarah realized that she'd been relieved of her clothing during the same heartbeat.

As had he. She sucked in her breath at her first taste of how a naked, thoroughly aroused man felt against the heat of her own, equally naked—and equally aroused—body.

Said personal arousal did nothing to prevent her from trying to squirm her way free of his suffocating weight.

Said squirming accomplished nothing but to elicit an appreciative "hmmm" from his elegant white throat and a gleam of increased interest from his lust-darkened eyes.

"Let me go," she hissed, or would have if her words contained any sibilants. Her traitorous body, meanwhile, protested her words by flushing even hotter and releasing a trickle of dampness between her legs, where Jareth had wedged one of his thighs.

Jareth grasped her flailing hands and held them above her head as he leaned down to nibble at her throat with his sharp white teeth. His lips against her heated skin felt like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her at the sensation.

"Stop fighting, precious," he said after a moment, raising his head and peering down at her with a lazy smile. "We both know you want this, and I'm not one to come between a lady and her…" he paused to slip his free hand between her legs, stroking her soaking wet opening suggestively, "…desires."

She felt her face burning at the knowing grin that spread across his features. The flush didn't originate there, however, it came from considerably lower and had traveled upwards as soon as his fingers began their investigation of her body.

Of a very specific part of her body, where they continued to linger, delving inside her, rubbing against the most sensitive bundle of nerves in her body…

Belatedly she remembered she was supposed to be fighting him off, not letting him bring her off, although it was probably too late to avoid that. She moved her leg, trying to push his hand away, but succeeded only in pressing his fingers deeper within her aching mound.

Mistake; her eyes widened as his own narrowed to slits, his fingers working her with a furious intensity, thumb slipping and sliding over her swollen clit. He swooped down and slashed his mouth across hers, tongue demanding entry in that incredibly arrogant, incredibly sexy way it had during their earlier kiss.

Demanding it, receiving it, being met by her own tongue and a series of guttural moans she hardly recognized as coming from her own throat.

Hazily she wondered when he was going to release her wrists so she could run her hands over his lithe, overheated, wonderfully gorgeous body; she was particularly keen to investigate his buttocks and the hot shaft pressing so insistently against her thighs and belly. As his lips moved to suck and tease the base of her throat she opened her mouth to ask, then clamped her lips tightly shut as her conscience prodded her. _You're here against your will, remember? He kidnapped you and he's taking advantage of you and your hormones, the ones you haven't allowed anyone do anything about yet…_

Her eyes snapped open as she remembered what should have never left the forefront of her mind, her body going rigid, the haze of pleasure snapped and broken in that moment.

She was a virgin. She'd never gone even close to this far with any of her three boyfriends, had barely let the last one fumble his hands over her bra-clad breasts before putting on the brakes.

"Jareth, stop, please," she gasped out, her voice strangled with rising panic. "I can't…I've never…please, just stop!" The last word came out in a near sob, but she didn't care if he heard the rising terror, how close she was to tears. He had to stop, this couldn't happen, not her first time, it couldn't be like this…

His fingers stilled, his lips pulled back from her throat as he raised his head to regard her with the faint ghost of a smile, clearly amused by her distress. "What, precious, just now realizing what you'll be giving up to me?"

His head swooped back in to force another kiss on her lips, pressing hard when she tried not to open beneath him. The nip of his teeth on her bottom lip caused her to gasp in pain, and he used that opportunity to plunge his tongue into her mouth, sliding it along hers and tempting her to bite it to give herself some time.

Because no matter how much she fought this, it was going to happen.

Especially since it wasn't only her body fighting her mind, it was the deepest, most secret part of her innermost self that was fighting as well. The part where fantasy lived and thrived, where her most hidden desires took form.

His lips moved from hers, his tongue trailing down the line of her jaw, curling around the shell of her ear, his fingers once again probing the wetness between her legs with languorous strokes, his other hand gliding over her breast…

Wait, what? His other hand? But how, her arms were still held firmly over her head – how could he be touching her, how…

She twisted her head around to try and see why she still couldn't move her arms, and saw…nothing. Just her arms stretched over her head, wrists together as though bound, the sensation of fingers curled tightly around her flesh, but nothing was there.

She shivered and whipped her head back to see Jareth regarding her with a smile on his lips. Not a cruel smile, or a triumphant one, not a smirk or a sneer, just a smile, as if delighting in her confusion. "Magic, precious," he reminded her as she gaped at him. Then the smile morphed into the smirk she'd expected to see in the first place before he lowered his head to her breast and sucked her nipple into his mouth, fingers teasing and twisting the other nipple into taut firmness.

Another moan was trying to escape her throat, but she trapped it behind her lips, biting down hard on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

Apparently that caught his attention, because he ceased his ministrations in order to haul himself up onto his knees and gaze down at her mouth as if entranced by the blood beading on her lower lip.

He grazed it with the tip of one finger, brought it up to his mouth and licked it. Sarah stared, fascinated and repelled as his tongue darted out and back in again, bringing that tiny drop with it. Then he returned his gaze to hers. "No need to provide me with blood that way, precious, when we both know there will be blood aplenty when I take you."

Then his fingers were back between her legs, as if she needed a hint as to his meaning, and she found the strength to roll onto her side, as far away from him as she could, drawing her knees up to protect the most vulnerable part of her body.

She heard what sounded like a smothered laugh before his hands were on her body, flipping her over onto her stomach, wrenching her thighs apart and holding them spread wide as he settled himself between them. His hot breath was on her face as he whispered: "Lovely idea, thank you."

She gasped as she felt him settle onto her, his heated shaft burning against her skin, rubbing between the cleft of her buttocks as he bit down on the juncture of neck and shoulder, sucking and nibbling until she cried out, unsure if she was doing so out of pain…or pleasure.

He kissed and nipped and occasionally licked his way down to her shoulder blades, following the path of her spine as she writhed and bucked in pure panic, knowing his ultimate destination and dwelling in emotional chaos as conflicting urges flickered through her mind: _stop him, make him stop, don't let him stop, keep going, stop, please, please, pleaseohpleaseohplease…_

He drew his tongue down the line of her buttocks, his hands keeping her legs spread wide, and couldn't help a small scream as she felt his tongue invading the most private, most intimate part of her body.

She felt his hands release their punishing grip on her thighs, his own body wedge enough between her legs. Then his fingers were probing at her, delicately peeling her lower lips apart, pressing themselves against the hot flesh as his tongue laved her from the base of her opening up to her clit.

He concentrated his efforts there, while pinpoints of light flashed in front of Sarah's dazzled eyes, not magical but solely from the unbelievable sensation of his lips and tongue as they continued to wring wave after wave of mounting pleasure from between her legs.

It was wrong, it was unspeakable, it was the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced and overwhelmed every sense. Her mouth gaped open in a silent scream as he brought her closer and closer to an edge she'd only ever flirted with in her few, fumbling attempts at exploring her own body.

Then the edge was reached, the scream no longer silent as paroxysms shook her body, as her fingers clenched around themselves and her legs convulsed and shuddered while Jareth rode out the storm between them, his tongue moving furiously as if determined to lap up every last drop of the moisture her orgasm was squeezing out of her body.

Then his hands and lips were gone, removed from her body. As she reflexively squeezed her legs together, she realized through the haze of pleasure that he no longer occupied that space and moved her head in surprise.

She was even more surprised to discover that her hands were now free as she brought them, trembling in the aftermath of the most explosive, exhausting, exhilarating sensation she'd ever experienced, to her shoulders, holding herself in a tight hug.

Her heart was thundering in her chest, her breath coming in short, gasping pants, and it took her several minutes to realize she was once again alone in the tower room.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, he just stopped there...and so did the author, bwah-ha-ha! Always leave 'em wanting more, that's my motto. Next chapter: Sarah tries to unravel the mystery of why Jareth didn't follow through with his threats...and then he shows up to do exactly that. Story is almost complete._


	5. Love Me, Fear Me

**Part 5: Love Me, Fear Me**

Sarah lay curled around herself, arms crossed over her chest, fingers digging into her biceps, knees touching elbows, and sobbed.

She felt…used. She felt…fulfilled.

She felt…abandoned.

Why had he done that, wrung such incredible pleasure from her and then simply vanished?

_Why_?

And the even more troubling questions, the true reasons for her tears…when was he coming back? How long was he going to make her wait for him?

Their relationship, if it could be termed that, had always been adversarial. She knew that; he was the villain, she was the heroine.

The villain wasn't supposed to be able to wring such intense sensations out of the heroine. If he touched in a carnal manner, she was supposed to resist. In some versions he won, took his pleasure of her and discarded her, leaving her used and abandoned. The way Sarah felt now.

In other versions, the hero brought the heroine to incredible heights of physical pleasure, leaving her sated and raw and wanting more.

The way Sarah also felt now.

But it wasn't supposed to be the villain who brought her soaring to such incredible heights. She was supposed to be stronger than that, her heart pure, her will unwavering in the face of temptation.

She wasn't supposed to just…give in. Let him use her.

Make her _come_.

The crude honesty of those words brought her back to herself. Her sobs ceased and she dashed her hands at the wetness on her cheeks, furious with herself for falling back into the trap of believing that the fantasy world she currently inhabited abided by the rules of romantic novels and movies, where heroes and villains were black and white with no gray areas shading them.

The villain in those books and movies could try to seduce the heroine, but never succeed because his evil could never be disguised. The hero could never be anything other than brave and strong and handsome. The heroine only fell for the villain's blandishments for a short while before seeing right through him and rushing into the hero's arms.

But this wasn't a romantic fantasy, this was real, this was true. Sarah was no pure of heart maiden in a fairy tale, she was an eighteen-year-old girl whose body and heart ached for the touch of the Goblin King. Who wanted him like no other man.

He was the reason she'd never given up her virginity to any of her three steady boyfriends. He was the reason no man she'd ever seen on TV or in the movies or the cover of a magazine could hold her interest for more than the briefest period of infatuation.

_I ask for so little. Just __fear me__, __love me__, do as I say and I will be your slave._

She shivered as his words, the words that had long ago burned themselves into her soul, flashed across her mind. He'd been begging her and she'd been so young, so sure that she was doing the right thing, when she rejected him.

_You have no power over me._

God, she'd been so young.

And so very, very wrong.

She loved him. She feared him.

As for the rest? She shuddered in a mixture of fear and desire.

…_do a I say and will be your slave…_

Was it possible? Could she…could he…

Unable to finish the though she hugged her knees to her chest and stared at nothing.

Or perhaps she was staring directly at him, standing invisibly in front of her? Or perhaps he was watching her from afar, gauging her reaction to the confusion he'd inflicted on her?

Her lip curled in a frustrated grimace. That would be just like him, the bastard. But he'd be back eventually, and when he was, she needed to be absolutely certain what she wanted and didn't want to happen next.

**oOo**

Jareth, King of the Goblins, Lord of the Labyrinth, only child of the Underground's High King and his fourth mistress, gazed intently into the crystal he held in one hand. His lips turned up in a satisfied smile as he watched Sarah sobbing on the bed he'd conjured for her.

She feared him. Good.

She ached for him. Even better.

She wanted more than just his mouth on her most intimate parts. Best of all.

Because he felt exactly the same way about her, although confessing such was not in his nature.

Showing how he felt, however…that was an entirely different matter.

He had come to her that day fully intent on pressing himself on her, on taking the virginity she'd clearly saved for him and no one else, but had stopped himself when he saw how exquisitely she reacted to him. Even though she fought him, gave no ground and promised no surrender, he could scent his victory with every twitch of her limbs, every strangled moan and gasp that passed through her lips.

She'd offered him her blood, the taste of which had nearly sent him into a frenzy, had nearly been his undoing.

Nearly. When next he tasted her blood, it would be mingled with their bodily juices, fresh from lovemaking, her skin flushed and her breath coming in ragged gasps. She would watch him as he once again pressed his mouth against her sex and tasted his triumph.

His triumph, and his own surrender. Because he would be giving up as much of himself to her as she surrendered to him. Not just his body, but his heart, his mind, his soul.

By allowing him to take her, she would _own_ him, and he found the thought terrifying and intoxicating and almost too much for him to bear another moment of waiting.

For now, however, "almost too much" was enough to keep him away from her, to allow her time to recover from what he knew, with no sense of false modesty but a great deal of smugness, had been the most devastating, erotic, incredible experience of her young life.

Her sobs had ended. She was sitting up, gazing around the room with suspicious, wanting eyes. Eventually she would realize he wasn't returning immediately and would drag herself off the bed. She would make her way back to the bathing chamber he'd so thoughtfully provided her and find another hot, soothing bath drawn and waiting for her, scented as her baths always would be with lavender.

And when she was calmer, feeling clean and less raw and vulnerable, he would reappear and claim her for his own.

Forever.

* * *

_A/N: Next chapter will reunite our star-cross'd lovers...or whatever the hell they are! Please R&R and remember, I promised a dark!Jareth in this one so the "L" word isn't likely to cross his lips except as a command. _

_Yet. :) _

_(how do you emoticon an evil grin, anyway?)_


	6. Interlude: In Hot Water

**Interlude: In Hot Water**

Sarah sunk deep into her second bath of the morning, resting her head on the cool ceramic edge of the tub and closing her eyes. She felt bruised and battered in both body and soul, damaged, ruined…and yet, at the same time and against all reason…saved.

As if by forcing his attentions on her, Jareth had been at the same time offering himself as her salvation.

Which was completely fucked up.

Once again his parting words – no, his parting plea – to her during her last visit to the Underground came drifting across her mind. F_ear me__, __love me__, do as I say and I will be your slave._

Those words had meant nothing to her at fifteen, too intense, too fraught with possibility for her younger self to comprehend either intellectually or, more importantly, emotionally.

But now…

Now, she found herself drawn to those words, to the intensity with which they'd been spoken, the way not only his voice but his eyes and every line of his body seemed to plead with her to give in. Found herself remembering the curl of dark desire his words had stirred in her body even as her mind remained uncomprehending, too immature, too busy struggling with remembering the most important line, the one that would save her brother and bring them both safely home. The one she always, _always_ forgot…

And now, maybe, just maybe, she finally understood why she kept forgetting that line.

_You have no power over me._

She kept forgetting it because she didn't _want_ to remember it. Didn't want to break the spell he'd been trying so desperately to cast over her.

A sigh escaped her lips as she reached her hands up and rested them on the sides of the tub, feeling some of the tension drain from her body as she continued to examine her considerably mixed feelings.

The sensation of fingers ghosting across her breasts brought a gasp from her lips as her eyes flew open, fully expecting to see Jareth leaning over her.

She was alone in the room. And the ghost-fingers were sliding down her abdomen, teasing the tops of her thighs.

Brushing across her rapidly warming center.

The gasp turned to a moan as the sensation of fingers sliding into her morphed into the even more intense sensation of a mouth – teeth grazing, lips and tongue fondling and sucking – against her groin.

"Jareth," she whispered as her eyes slid shut, her fingers clutching desperately at the edges of the tub. "Stop, please…"

_Do you really mean that?_

The taunting words, his voice, sounded in her mind rather than her ears, and she wondered through a growing haze of pleasure if she'd only imagined them. If she had fallen asleep in the tub and was imaging – dreaming – all of this.

The amazing sensation of invisible, intangible fingers kneading her breasts, rubbing her nipples into hardened nubs . The continued movements of an equally invisible tongue laving her clit, the increased speed and friction of the fingers she couldn't see probing deep inside her brought a strangled moan from her lips. Her hips bucked involuntarily as the movements increased, and water sloshed over the edge of the tub as she felt herself barreling toward orgasm.

When a second pair of invisible, intangible lips began sucking at the soft flesh at the base of her throat, she could no longer stave off the inevitable, and keened in pleasure as the peak she'd been straining for was reached, leaving a shaking, gasping mess in its wake.

_Dry yourself, precious. Join me, and I promise, you will not regret it. I'll wait for you…but not forever._

* * *

_A/N: Sorry, I know, a very short chapter. But I really wanted to include this and it seemed to be a perfect cut-off point here, so the rest will be forthcoming. Soon. Promise. Hope this tides you over for now!_


	7. Your Slave

_A/N: Special thanks to startraveller776 for looking this chapter over for me!_

* * *

**Part 6: Your Slave**

Sarah stood in front of the bathing chamber door for a long time before she was able to force herself to pull it open and step across the threshold.

She was naked, not having been given a towel this time – not needing one, either, since her body had magically dried itself as soon as she stepped out of the tub. Even the ends of her hair, which had trailed into the water – or, more likely, been splashed by her writhing around in the tub, she thought with a blush – was dry. Not only dry, but smooth, untangled, falling down her back in thick waves.

Exactly the way she wanted it to look and could never seem to manage without a trip to the hairdresser and the application of about a metric ton of product.

Her eyes darted around the circular chamber, seeing nothing out of place – and no one in place, as it were.

She was alone.

Not that that gave her any sense of peace; she'd been "alone" in the bathing chamber when Jareth decided to visit her with his invisible presence. For all she knew, he was here now, watching her.

Well, let him watch. She straightened her back, stuck out her chin, and stepped boldly across the threshold.

A clapping sound – slow, sardonic – echoed through the chamber. She turned her head sharply in the direction the sound was coming from. Near the fireplace.

There was Jareth stretched out on one of the two wing chairs that had materialized there, feet elegantly crossed at the ankles and resting on the ottoman, hands still pressed together as he finished clapping. "Well done, Sarah. You've conquered the perils of crossing from one room to the next, and managed it without any help from me." He raised an eyebrow, lips twisted in a smile as sardonic as his clapping had been. "Whatever will you do for an encore?"

There he was, the aloof, sarcastic, maddening Goblin King. Mocking her. After everything he'd done to her, both in this chamber and the one she'd just vacated, after all the pleasure he'd wrung from her (mostly) unwilling body…he had the nerve to make fun of her?

Enough, Sarah decided, was enough. She strode over to his side, as close as she could get without touching him, and glared down at his still-smirking face. Her hand itched to slap the grin off that (gorgeous, exotic, enticing) evil face of his, but she restrained herself.

Barely.

Instead, she did something that took a great deal more courage: she straddled him, knees pressed into the narrow space between hips and chair arms, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

**oOo**

Jareth felt his breath catch in his throat as Sarah boldly straddled him, her fingers toying with the fly-away strands of his hair, her lips pressed against his, her tongue sliding against his lips in an unmistakable invitation.

One he had no intention of ignoring.

Of their own volition his arms encircled her, pulling her more firmly against his heated form, ensuring that she could feel the shape of his arousal – the arousal she'd caused by her aggressiveness – against her sex.

The smallest part of his mind wondered at her sudden change in tactics; she'd seemed so intent on playing the victim to his villain when he'd come to her the first time that this radical alteration made him question whether she hadn't been slipped some potion while he left her in the bathing chamber.

Of course, he knew no such thing had occurred; none in his realm would dare interfere in his plans for this woman, and none outside his realm knew she was there…and again, would either not dare or not care to interfere.

Whatever the reason, he thought as his fingers tangled themselves in her hair, tugging on the silky strands, he _liked_ it. A great deal.

But not so much that he wouldn't question it…and her.

He tightened his grip on her hair, knotting a handful of it and forcing her face away from his. She gasped, eyes widening at the sudden violence. Good. He never wanted her to forget who he was, to believe that she could anticipate his wants or mood the way he could – and always would – anticipate hers.

Even the ones she, herself, was unaware of.

"What?" she squeaked out, a thread of fear in her voice and eyes. "I thought you wanted…"

"I do," he replied curtly, keeping his gaze cold and steady on hers, his hand sliding down to capture her wrist when he felt her start to lift her body up and away from his. Keeping her in place as he pulled his legs off the ottoman and planted them on the floor. "What I don't know is what you think you're doing."

Her eyes blazed with fury, but not before he saw the hurt and confusion in them. The combination was potent, arousing him further, but he remained still and watchful as she struggled futilely against his hold, clawing at the hand wrapped around her wrist, twisting her body against his. "Giving you what you want," she spat out.

He frowned at this untruth. "No, Sarah," he hissed, thrusting his face closer to hers, mouth hovering over hers as he hurled his accusation. "You're giving me what you _think_ I want. A body to use, nothing more. But you know it's not just your body I crave."

As abruptly as his fury had risen, it subsided. He eased his grip on her hair and wrist, turning his face to nuzzle at the soft flesh beneath her ear as he whispered: "I want your heart as well."

"You can't…you can't have it," she replied, just as softly but with a great deal of unsteadiness in her voice. Good, he approved of her uncertainty; he'd rather have that honest confusion than any false capitulation.

"Oh, I think I already have it, sweet," he murmured, his voice still soft, gentle, although his eyes still held a dangerous glint.

She'd stopped fighting his grip, stopped trying to raise herself from his body.

Perhaps he needed to show her what she would be missing if she did.

With a thought his clothing vanished, and Sarah Williams was left straddling a very naked, very aroused Goblin King.

**oOo**

She'd decided, in the split second it took her to register his presence on the chair in front of the fireplace, that it was time to try and beat him at his own game. Well, maybe not beat him, but at least level the playing field.

He'd kidnapped her here (_brought her exactly where she wanted to be,_ her mind whispered) and intended to have sex with her (_make love to her,_ that same part of her mind whispered, while her conscience snapped _shut up!_), so if it really was as inevitable as that, why not take some initiative?

And now he…what? Didn't want her unless she was cowering and hiding from him?

She wished it was something as simple as that. No, instead, he'd asked her for the one thing she'd never offered to another living being outside her immediate family.

Her heart.

How could she give it to him when she was so conflicted, when she barely knew her own mind? When she was struggling with the passion he'd so easily aroused in her (formerly) untouched body?

His clothes vanished, and she gasped at the sudden feel of a naked, highly aroused man between her legs. His cock pressed insistently against her sex, the head tickling her abdomen, and she felt a flush spread over her as she dared a peek downward.

She'd seen pictures, of course, illicit movies and magazines with giggling teenaged friends when the parents were away, but it was nothing compared to the reality.

A reality she was terrified to contemplate…and craved as much as Jareth claimed to crave her heart.

As she raised her eyes to meet his, he finally released his punishing grip on wrist and hip, sliding both hands down until his fingers cradled her bottom, fingers meeting and sliding against the puckered opening (ohgodohgodohgod it wasn't supposed to feel so good, something so depraved and disgusting but it did and she couldn't believe she was half-hoping his explorations would take him deeper but there it was, that sick desire she could no more repress than she could stop his invisible touch on her body in the bath).

He offered a lazy, knowing smile as her lips parted in a gasp, lifting her and sliding her core against his heated shaft as easily as if she were a hollow-boned bird he'd found in the grass. She gasped again as she realized how easily she was sliding against him, the friction caused by her moist opening glazing him, coating him, giving her arousal away.

She hadn't just wanted to try and beat him at his own game. She _wanted_ him to take her. She was suddenly tired of fighting her own desires, her own secret longings.

She'd saved herself for him. He knew it, she knew it; why deny it?

As if he read her capitulation in her eyes, Jareth's smile deepened into something dark and knowing. Pulling her tightly against his body, he rose to his feet and carried her unprotesting form to the bed.

Somewhere between those first few steps and the moment he laid her upon the coverlet, Sarah must have closed her eyes, because when she looked past the Goblin King's shoulder, she found they'd been transported to a completely different room.

Gone was the peach nightmare of a tower prison. Although the walls surrounding them were still cold, grey stone interrupted by a fireplace and a few narrow windows, the walls were now square. The hangings and coverlet on the bed were a deep scarlet, and the tapestries on the wall appeared to depict scenes of hunting and battles, although Sarah was given very little time to contemplate them before Jareth's lips came crashing down on hers.

As his body covered hers, Sarah felt her last vestiges of resistance collapse; as his tongue demanded entry to her mouth, she found herself surrendering utterly. He wanted her body and her heart, and there was no way she could deny him either.

She'd fought them for so long, those feelings that had frightened and confused her as a fifteen-year-old girl. She pushed them away, deep down in her psyche, until she'd convinced herself they didn't exist.

And Jareth pulled them out of her with such ease that she should have known he was right all along.

**oOo**

She was his. He could _feel_ the surrender in her, the way she allowed him to plunder her mouth, the way she pushed her breasts into his hands when he cupped them, the way she willingly slid her legs apart when he lowered himself onto her body.

Not just her body, either; he could feel the rapid beat of her heart as she offered it up to him, the way he'd always known she would – the way he _demanded_ that she do.

She'd come dangerously close to destroying his kingdom three mortal years ago; how much damage would she be able to wreak once he brought her back there, introduced her as his queen and helped her to tap into the hidden powers she'd always held locked away inside her heart and soul?

He allowed himself a satisfied smile as he thought: There is truly only one way to find out.

Then he captured her lips for another searing kiss, sliding the fingers of one hand down between her legs, slipping a single digit inside and listening complacently as she moaned her pleasure. He slid a second finger inside, stretching her a bit, readying her for the discomfort to come – although, come to that, why should she be forced to endure such discomfort, when he had the means to make this moment one of pure pleasure?

"Say the words, Sarah," he growled against her throat, suddenly impatient to be inside her, to feel her surrounding him the way he'd dreamed for far too long. "Tell me what you want. Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your _slave_," he declared, the same words he'd once used to try and woo her into staying by his side.

"I want…you," she finally managed to pant out as he pressed a series of feverish kisses to the column of her throat. She mewled in disappointment as he pulled his fingers from deep inside her, then cried out in pleasure as he pressed his cock against her entrance instead. "I want you inside me," she gasped, blushing furiously as if her bold words embarrassed her.

Foolish mortal, to be embarrassed by a simple, honest expression of desire. "As you wish," he said with a dark, upward curl of his lips.

**oOo**

Sarah braced herself for the pain, the burn of losing her virginity, fingers clenching against Jareth's shoulders as he held himself above her, guiding himself into her with one hand. She felt the head of his cock pressing against her entrance, slipping into her opening, pushing, pushing, pushing himself deep inside her…

She opened her eyes and stared at Jareth in shock as she realized that he was fully inside her. There was none of the starting and stopping her best friend from high school had whispered to her about; none of the burning ache that signified virginity lost, none of the frantic hip-bucking and tentative thrusting she'd described as part of the process.

No, Jareth was fully, deeply, comfortably inside her, and his wicked, knowing smile informed her that yes, he'd expected her shocked reaction. "Were you expecting pain, love?" he murmured, his grin deepening into something seductive, something that sent a shiver through her entire body, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. "Sorry to disappoint…perhaps I can indulge you some other time?"

Then he'd moved against her, thrusting into her, one hand gripping her hip, the other grasping her hair as she gasped and moaned at the raw jolt of pleasure that sizzled through her body at the movement.

He thrust again, and again, her hips rising to meet his as she fell, helpless and intoxicated, beneath the passionate spell he was weaving about her through the medium of simple, primal rutting.

It was everything she'd ever fantasized it would be, and nothing at all what she'd expected.

In a word, perfect.

As she spiraled toward orgasm, she managed one simple, searing thought.

_I love him._


	8. After The Loving (Sarah POV)

**Part 7: After the Loving (Sarah POV)**

Sarah's eyes widened in shock as she realized what she'd just thought. She _loved_ him?! Was she nuts? He'd kidnapped her, threatened to rape her, held her down against her will (mostly) and…and…given her her first real orgasm. With his mouth. While she moaned and writhed and didn't fight him. Much.

And _she'd_ initiated this, her first sexual encounter. Well, yes, he'd been the one to give her yet another mind-blowing orgasm via invisible magic fingers in the bath, and he'd been the one to call her to him, but she'd jumped on his lap and kissed him.

Not just because she was trying to get the upper hand, to beat him at his own game.

No, that lie just wasn't going to work. Not any more.

He'd taken her virginity…_No, no more lying,_ Sarah, she told herself crossly. _You served it up to him on a silver platter. And he made it not painful at all. No battering down the barrier, no…_ She peeked down at the tops of her legs. _No blood. He made it…perfect._

The only question was, why? When he'd abducted her from her home, when he'd first brought her to that horrible peach-colored chamber, he'd laughed at her when she asked him if he loved her. Told her that love was a human emotion – and reminded her that he wasn't human.

He'd taunted her, set her blood on fire, teased her, showered her with pleasure, all while putting his own off.

That was nearly as mind-blowing as the sex. Yeah, for all she knew he left her and immediately went and jacked off in the nearest bathroom, or found some willing Fairy-lady (or whatever species he actually was) and had sex with her, but she suspected – and was damned well going to ask – that he'd actually waited for her. That he'd put off his own pleasure for the sake of hers.

"You've gone very deep within yourself, Sarah." His soft, drawling, semi-mocking voice brought her back to reality with a start. He was still lying on top of her, resting on his elbows to hold the top part of his body up, but his legs were still heavy on hers, their mingled juices (was that the right word, or did it make her sound like some idiotic romance novel heroine?) smeared across the tops of their thighs and still oozing from between her legs.

Gross, actually, if she let herself think about the messy biological part of what had just happened; better to concentrate on the messy emotional aftermath. Yeah, much easier to deal with.

Jareth followed her glance down, then returned his amused gaze to her face. "Easy enough to remedy, love," he murmured, and suddenly they were both absolutely, pristinely clean. As if she'd just emerged from the bath again, and him with her.

The image of Jareth surging against her in the tub – in the flesh this time – thoroughly stopped up Sarah's throat, dried her mouth and sent a bolt of pure desire from her female center right up her spine. She suspected that if Jareth were to dip his fingers inside her again, he'd find her as wet and willing for him as she'd been earlier.

"If love is a human emotion, then why do you keep calling me it? Love?" she blurted out, then bit her lip in vexation. She'd meant to tell him – ask him politely – to get off her and let her have some space so she could think, really _think_ about what had just happened without him looming over her, but those were the words that came out and she couldn't take them back.

"Because you hate to be called precious," he said, his voice perfectly reasonable as he managed to (again!) seemingly read her mind and roll off her, lying comfortably on his side, but resting his arm across her midriff. Keeping her firmly in place as he sent his gaze across her body, a leisurely stroll from head to toe but pausing frequently on her breasts and crotch. "Besides," he added, his voice a velvety smooth whisper against her ear, his breath stirring her hair and raising goose bumps in its wake, "you like it when I do."

"No I don't," she protested feebly, and felt the huff of laughter he let out, rather than heard it.

With a swift movement he hauled her against his body, leaving her half-sprawled on top of him and gasping in surprise, his eyes squarely on hers. "Yes you do," he countered, then pulled her down for a kiss. "And you liked that," he whispered against the corner of her mouth when the kiss ended. "And this…" His lips moved down to her throat, just beneath her ear, and he bit down very gently and sucked.

Sarah's hands had landed on his shoulders, and she'd been instinctively pushing herself against him, trying to break free of his hold, but once he kissed her a very different instinct had kicked into action. As he continued to suck at her neck, nibbling his mark into her throat, she found herself clutching his shoulders for dear life, as if worried a wave would come over them and leave her adrift on the ocean.

God, the things he could do with his mouth, it was _sinful_, it was _wrong_, it was… "Wonderful," she sighed, not caring that she'd actually said the word aloud.

"Indeed," he murmured, his mouth still on her throat, so wet and warm and inviting. Husky with what she hoped was still desire, even though they'd just finished making love.

She was absolutely, positively out of her mind, she knew that much, but found herself not caring. Much. Especially once he moved his hips, just the slightest bit, so that his renewed erection (_how the hell had he recovered so quickly, didn't men usually have to wait – no, wrong, he's not human, dumbass, remember, magic, Goblin King…_) rubbed against her center.

Which was equally ready for more, there was no way he could possibly miss how wet she was again, not with the way he was rubbing against her, stroking his length along her, his hands lowering to her hips in order to guide the movements she hadn't realized she was making in concert with his.

"Sarah," he said, his voice a purr of mingled pleasure and command, and she opened her eyes (_when had she closed them?_) to meet his gaze as his movement abruptly stilled.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice breathy and weak and damn if she didn't care.

"You do understand that I have no intention of ever letting you go."

That was a dash of cold water on her rising heat. She sat up and frowned down at him. "Not even to get my things? To say goodbye?"

She'd surprised him; good. He gaped up at her, his hands loosening slightly on her hips. "You…wish to stay with me?" he asked, not quite a stammer but certainly as close as she suspected he ever got.

Sarah sighed and forcibly restrained her hands from wrapping around his glorious cock and _showing_ him how she felt. This was a time for words; words were so important here ("Say your right words, Sarah") that she had to tell him, so there would be no doubt, no confusion, no questioning whether it was just the haze of sex overloading her common sense.

Well, yes, it was, but who in their right mind would want to give up a lover who could do the things Jareth could do? Who would willingly walk away from a life full of magic and wonder for a second time?

Not Sarah Anne Williams, that was for sure.

She'd grown up in more ways than one over the past three years.

"Look, I'm not…thrilled…that you kidnapped me," she said, speaking slowly, picking her words with care. "But I'm not exactly _unhappy_ about it, either. I can't lie to myself anymore and pretend that all the stuff that's happened between us was forced on me, that I didn't want it. Because I did. I do," she amended, feeling a blush spreading over her cheeks. She'd never spoken so frankly to anyone before, certainly not to the Goblin King, and had no idea how he was taking her words.

She looked at him sideways, trying to gauge his reaction. His face had gone blank as she spoke and remained as unreadable as stone when she fell silent.

Another sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. "Look, Jareth, I know we come from different worlds –" Understatement of the century, that, " – but we both know there's something between us, even if you don't want to call it love." She looked squarely at him, took a deep breath, and committed herself. "But I do. I love you."

There. She'd said it aloud, no takesy-backsies. She took heart from the fact that he'd seemed so honestly bewildered when he asked if she wished to stay with him, like he'd never expected her to do anything but fight him.

No more. Well, not about her feelings; she was certain they would find plenty of things to fight about in the future, one of which was going to be exactly how he intended to define their relationship from this point on. He'd said he never planned to let her go; would he change his mind in that mercurial way he had, now that she'd declared that she _wanted_ to stay? Would she remain a prisoner, his mistress or concubine or whatever, or would he once again offer for her to be his queen?

With a rapidly beating heart, Sarah waited for him to say something.


End file.
